Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy by Melissa Macfie Page B

around, members of the remaining crowd were holding their ears and small children cried. Hundreds of sparrows flew into the circle, bobbing and weaving throughout the pattern. The birds flew around the perimeter, following the same path of the wind, and at an unseen signal, the flock pumped their wings to gain altitude, clearing the top of the stones, flying higher above the circle. Still in sight, the flock undulated and soft downy feathers rained down as the birds molted in unison.
    The featherless wings stopped flapping, sending bodies plummeting toward the ground. It was so quick that if Brenawyn had blinked she might have missed it. The motionless wings multiplied with a tearing, two wings became four. Orange and black scales grew out of the plucked skin to overlap as they settled to cover the new wing structure. She squinted to get a better view…butterflies! Thousands of butterflies fluttered up on a breeze born in the South, mere inches before the first would have smashed against the earth.
    They flitted about her, alighting in her hair, on her shoulders, chest, knees, and hands. She giggled as one brushed the side of her neck. In concert, those that had taken momentary refuge on her, lifted off at one time and congregated on the pedestal. They covered the platform and the candle entirely, posed there for a fraction of a second, and again took flight simultaneously, leaving a steady green flame burning behind.
    A warmth radiated from her chest and fear was forgotten. Brenawyn regained her feet and strode to the West-facing stone. She knelt in front of it and placed the blue tourmaline at the base of the pedestal. “I acknowledge the West Spirit, who gives us comforting warmth and encourages us to seek new adventures. I call to the Water, who quenches our thirst and heals our wounds. Let the flame stand as sentinel and this crystal be etched with our plea. I summon both to this circle. Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”
    Thunder boomed and lightning crackled across the sky as ominous storm clouds rolled in. As she finished the summons, the sky opened up in a maelstrom, pelting fat raindrops on the heads of the assembled audience, drenching them in seconds. Lightning struck trees on the perimeter of the park, sending limbs crashing to the ground, but now no one moved.
    The candle’s flame was still alive, if only a pinprick. But it flared likes sparks struck from flint when the punishing rain gave way to drizzle. Larger and more persistent it grew, despite the moisture in the air, spattering her and the entire circle in rainbows.
    She lifted her hand, mesmerized by the prismatic colors of the kaleidoscopic candle on the plinth and the stone beyond. Perhaps this is what the world looks like from inside a diamond, she thought as her sleeve fell back to reveal the same effect across her skin.
    Am I stone? Diamond? The same?
    A heaviness crept into her limbs and the circle tilted drunkenly as Brenawyn gained her feet. Shifting patterns of color floated in front of her and swirled together in her wake. In front of the last stone, she fell to her knees, drawing out of the basket the obsidian and placing it reverently at the foot of the East-facing stone.
    “I acknowledge the East Spirit, who gives us rest for our weary bodies to replenish our minds so we can again work the wonders of the Ways. I call to the Fire, who warms our hearth allowing us sight in the dark, and who is the full cycle of birth, destruction, and rebirth. Let the flame stand as sentinel, and this stone be etched with our plea. I summon both to this circle. Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”
    From somewhere beyond the surrounding shimmer and the perimeter of the stones, a flash of intense heat and light—different, harsh and more direct—burned away the dancing colors. She felt a matching heat at her back and turned to see a high flame spouting from the reflecting basin situated in the center of the